Love and Hope
by HarmonyLover
Summary: A one-shot from Catherine's perspective that takes place immediately after "Shades of Grey." Rated T just to be safe.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything related to _Beauty and the Beast_; I write these stories for enjoyment only. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Love and Hope**

As Catherine climbed the rungs to the basement of her apartment building, she found herself trembling with the depth of her own emotion. She had finally said it, finally voiced the feelings that had been filling her heart for so many months.

"It wasn't courage, Vincent. It was love."

Love had driven her for the entire terrible day just past, love coupled with an almost mind-numbing fear that they would find Vincent and Father crushed beneath the rubble of the collapsed Maze. She had been so afraid that she would never see Vincent's blue eyes looking at her again, never hear his gentle voice saying her name. There had been no room for sadness; she could not even contemplate the grief that would have overwhelmed her if Vincent had died. Her love for him and her fear of losing him had kept everything else at bay.

When Mouse had finally triggered the explosives that blasted away the wall separating them all from Vincent and Father, Cathy had gone weak-kneed with relief as she has seen Vincent's form crouching over Father, covered in dust and grime but very much alive. They had only a momentary embrace then, for Father was badly hurt and needed immediate attention. That brief, fervent embrace had reassured them both, allowing them to leave words for later.

Pausing as she replaced the boxes in front of the door that led Below, Catherine thought about Jacob Wells. She had been both shocked and deeply moved by his tenderness after being rescued; she could only hope that it meant he was beginning to consider her a permanent friend. For him to think of her as a daughter was something she hardly dared to hope for. There were several obstacles in front of that possibility, not least Vincent himself.

Catherine closed and locked the storeroom, smiling as she heard Vincent's words again.

"Your courage saved all of us."

If she had been courageous, she hadn't known it. She had no thoughts of being brave, only of saving Vincent, even when the need for tools had driven her to seek the aid of Elliott Burch.

The thought of Elliott brought a sigh of frustration and sadness to Catherine's lips. She had hated the thought of going to him for help, but hell itself would not have kept her from saving Vincent – and whatever else he was or wasn't, Elliott was hardly the devil, thought Catherine with a wry twist of her mouth. He was a man with the potential to be so much more than he was, a man with high aspirations and endless ambition who unfortunately chose the expedient course more often than the moral one. Today, however, he had listened to the better side of himself, asking her no questions, demanding no answers, simply responding to the fullest to her plea for help. Talking to him was a small price to pay for the help he had given. He had helped save the man she loved more than her own life. She would always be grateful to him for that.

A smile came back to Catherine's face and into her eyes as her thoughts returned to Vincent. In that moment after he had spoken about her courage in saving them, she had felt something between incredulity and amusement that he could still – still! – doubt her feelings for him, still doubt the love that he could surely feel from her. The extraordinary empathetic connection he shared with her must have communicated her feelings with more clarity than she could ever have given them through speech. Catherine knew, though, that Vincent's insecurities about his physical appearance and the parts of his nature that he perceived as less than human chipped away at his belief in her feelings for him. As she had given him her very simple answer to his comment, she had silently reflected, _If my feelings themselves aren't enough for him, maybe the words will be. Maybe speaking what I feel for him – what we both feel – will help him believe_.

"It wasn't courage, Vincent. It was love."

The look he had given her when she spoke was enough to confirm her conviction that it had been the right thing to say. Shock, joy, doubt, longing, and most of all love had been mirrored in Vincent's face and eyes, those eyes that were the blue of a summer sky. Catherine had waited, with a soft half-smile on her lips and love in her eyes, for the shock to pass and for him to see the love radiating from her, the love and acceptance of all that he was. He did see it – even accepted it with a grateful humility that made her heart ache with compassion – but it was not quite enough to drive the fear and doubt from his eyes. Catherine didn't know what or who it was that had hurt him so badly, but whatever it was had combined with his natural shyness and his fears about his differences to wound him deeply. She was determined to know, someday, what the source of that hurt was and to heal it for him. He did not believe he was worthy of her love, but he was – he was! Catherine thought vehemently as she clenched her fists – and she would wait and work for as long as it took to prove it to him.

Alone in the elevator, Catherine let the intensity of that shared look sweep over her again. It had seemed to last for days, even though it was only a few seconds. How she had wanted him to kiss her in that moment! – how _she_ had wanted to kiss _him_. She had forbidden herself then, and forbid herself again now, to think of anything beyond that simple desire for a kiss. The last thing Vincent needed to feel in that moment was the depth of her desire for him. She could not yet control her feelings in sudden and unexpected situations, but she was getting better at doing so when she was with him and away from him. Just a kiss between the two of them was an act that asked Vincent to cross barriers erected over years of guarding himself and others from his own emotions. She had known he probably would not kiss her, and she would never dream of crossing that boundary until they were on a surer footing, but simply letting him know that she wanted it, that wanting to kiss him was part and parcel of loving him, would – she prayed – help to break down the walls he maintained so vigilantly.

Catherine left the elevator and pulled her apartment key out of the pocket of her brown jacket. As she walked down the hall, she thought ruefully to herself that analyzing what had just happened was an effective way of keeping her own emotions on an even keel, so that Vincent would feel only her contentment. It had taken all of her love and control, all of her need to protect Vincent, to keep a grip on her emotions during that look and during the ladder climb afterward. If she had let her desire in even a little – but Catherine choked that possibility off before it could go any further.

Walking into her apartment, Catherine kicked off her sneakers and started stripping off the clothes that were filthy with mud and dust. Oh, how she needed a shower. She left the grimy clothing in a pile on the kitchen floor, where it couldn't harm the carpet, and crossed to the bathroom. She reached in and turned the shower on full blast, then gratefully climbed in and slumped against the wall as the water poured over her. She was suddenly exhausted. She closed her eyes.

_I love you, Vincent_. She knew that he would feel her love – eventually, she hoped, he would believe in it.


End file.
